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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161675">Whispers in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie'>theashemarie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Holidays Without You [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Splatoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bones 3: The Calcium Wars, Christmas, F/F, Gay Panic, Human AU, LDR 3: The Christmas One, Long-Distance Relationship, Rating for Cursing, pov pearl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you at least thought about what we talked about?"</p><p>Oh she has. She’s laid awake thinking about it, thinking about how she’ll say it, how she’ll have to tell Marina the whole truth eventually, how she’ll have to lay everything out for Marina to see (hear) and to judge for herself, how she’ll probably have to listen to Marina suck in a breath and say something like, <i>oh that’s so sweet Pearlie... But—</i></p><p>“No,” Pearl lies. </p><p>// </p><p>Pearl is in denial and has to spend a few days with her parents for the holidays, Marina has a special present for her, and Three really wishes they would just kiss and get it over with... Too bad about the long distance thing. </p><p>[LDR AU, Human AU, Time to check in with Pearl]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Holidays Without You [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pining Between Trees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the third part of a series, and I highly encourage you to read the first two parts first. They contain a lot of important information, and I think they're pretty neat! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Pearl works at a Christmas tree farm. The truth is that she works best on her feet and outside, where she can run a little wild. The haunted maze and the tree farm are the same in a lot of ways: she gets to run around between trees or corn, and she doesn’t have to sit around all day. Sometimes, she gets to wield a saw. At the tree farm, the saw is real.</p><p>Seasonal jobs are best because she tends to get bored after doing the same thing for too long. She used to work as an elf at the Santa meet and greet at the mall, but the bells on her shoes annoyed the hell out of her, and the screaming toddlers just made it worse. So, instead, she works at the tree farm, wears her flannel and beanie, assists small, young families with their trees, loads them onto the hayride so they can be taken up to the front, sometimes climbs on top of cars or into the beds of trucks to tie them down. She likes it.</p><p>Three is working with her this year, and they spend the whole day together, hoisting trees between the two of them and collecting saws, giving candy canes out to children. Sometimes, they disappear into the trees just to get away, and that’s the best part, especially if there’s snow on the ground. Three is Pearl’s oldest friend, the only person who stuck around after the Great Breakdown of Senior Year, and her father hates her, which just makes Pearl appreciate her more.</p><p>The farm is busiest toward the beginning of the season, so now, only a week before Christmas, the trees are picked through and the customers are sparse. Still, there are a few families who come through, trampling the snow under their boots. The children leave little trails as they bounce around, gazing at the trees with critical little eyes, trying to pick the best ones, and Pearl watches their parents nudge them toward the ideal ones—the full, tall ones with strong limbs. It reminds her of when she was tiny with her long, dark hair down to her lower back and her mother in her best coat, buttoned up to the throat, pixie cut hidden under an expensive hat that her father bought her so many Christmases ago. It was always just the two of them and the trees, Pearl—then Hime—reaching between the limbs to grab the trunk, and shaking with all of her little might, to check for weakness. She remembers her mother laughing every time, every year, always the same chiming sound, like the bells on Sunday morning, back when her father was convinced they needed to make appearances at church.</p><p>“<em>Be careful, Hime,</em>” her mother would order, but she always sounded amused, so Pearl never stopped. “<em>The tree might fall on you.</em>”</p><p>“<em>It’s in the ground!”</em> Pearl would always answer. “<em>There’s roots!</em>” And she would bend right there and scoop snow away, or dirt, and point.</p><p>They picked a tree that had strong roots, and, more importantly, strong limbs, <em>“So you can climb it,</em>” her mother would tease.</p><p><em>“I don’t think Papa would like that.</em>”</p><p>“<em>What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him</em>.”</p><p>Her mother was (is) like that—all rebellion, all spunk, all love. And her father was exactly the kind of person who insisted his daughter call him <em>Papa</em>. Active correction, all image, with his beautiful blond hair and green eyes, he knew what he wanted from his family. And he got it, most the time.</p><p>Except when it came to Pearl.</p><p>“Hey,” Three mutters as they watch a family saw at the trunk of a small tree. It will only take one of them to carry it, but they’ll do it together anyway. “How’s your whole... thing?”</p><p>Pearl blows out a breath. “Which one?” There’re so many things right now, with the holidays coming. Thanksgiving was just the beginning of it. Christmas is looming over her, followed closely by New Year’s Eve and the extravagant party that she’s always expected to appear at.</p><p>“Your...” Three waves her hands in a large gesture, which Pearl can’t read at all. “Marina,” she finishes. “The thing with Marina.”</p><p>“Oh.” Pearl grins to herself and looks down at her boots. “It’s uh... The same. Y’know. We’re— We’re friends.”</p><p>“God,” Three groans, and crosses her arms. “You’re <em>hopeless</em>.”</p><p>“What? What? Hopeless? No! What the fu— heck are you talking about? We’re friends! That’s it!”</p><p>“That’s what I mean. You’re in love with her and—”</p><p>“<em>Nooooo</em>, no, no, no, no. Let’s not rush to the L word, all right?”</p><p>Three gives her a look that says that she can see right through her. Pearl shakes her head and waves her off. “We’ve only known each other for a few months. Can we <em>please</em> not rush it? Besides, she’s like... She’s not interested in me and—”</p><p>“As <em>if</em>,” Three laughs. “God, you’re the most useless lesbian I’ve ever met and that’s saying something! I have to see my own face in the mirror and now <em>that</em>... That’s a useless lesbian. But you? You’re worse.”</p><p>“Shut up.” Pearl crosses her arms and watches as the tree finally falls. The little girl lets out a small, playful yell as it goes. “C’mon, let’s go. Before Dad over there tries to pick it up and throws his back out or something.”</p><p>Three shakes her head but follows closely. Pearl greets the family and offers to carry the tree, which the mother accepts without pause, sending a look to her husband that speaks volumes. He backs off and focuses on their daughter, tows her up and places her, giggling, on his shoulders, so she can watch them carry the tree.</p><p>Together, Pearl and Three pick it up and start the short trek to the hayride. The boy sitting in the tractor is watching them and he waves at them as they approach. Pearl gives him a little nod and together they sling the tree onto the trailer. Then, they help the family up, instruct them to sit on the square bales, and watch them drive off.</p><p>“You’re like the trees, y’know,” Three says as they wave at the little girl. She waves back exuberantly.</p><p>Pearl sighs. “What?”</p><p>“You’re like... full of pine.”</p><p>A long pause. “Huh?”</p><p>“<em>Pining!</em> You’re pining! You’ve got it bad! And don’t give me that nonsense about her not being interested. You talk <em>every day</em>, Pearl.”</p><p>“She’s just being nice. I—”</p><p>Three groans. “Do you <em>hear</em> yourself? <em>She’s just being nice</em>. You’re impossible. If you talk so much, then why don’t you just <em>ask</em> her—”</p><p>Pearl shakes her head. “No. I... I can’t afford to lose her right now. She’s... She’s too special. She’s— She’s my best friend and—”</p><p>Three touches her hand, suddenly chagrined. “I get it. I’m just worried about you. You’ve been crushing on her since you met her. Hell, you called me at like one in the morning on Halloween because you were so freaked! I haven’t heard you that excited about anything in a long time. It made <em>me </em>excited. And now you’re... You’re calling her your best friend and you talk every day and you’re obsessed with each other.”</p><p>Pearl sighs and tugs her gloves off, one finger at a time, just to stall. “I know. I do like her. I like her so <em>fucking</em> much. She’s like... She’s so <em>real</em> and I—”</p><p>Three gives her a small, strained smile. “You’ve had a hell of a life, so I get it. Nothing feels real anymore, but trust me. She is. You deserve happiness, you know.”</p><p>Pearl stuffs her gloves into the back pocket of her jeans. “You keep telling me that.”</p><p>“I mean it! As your former best friend— No, it’s fine. Marina is special. I’m trying not to take it personally.”</p><p>Pearl snorts. “You’re my <em>oldest </em>friend.”</p><p>“Semantics. Listen, you deserve to be happy, okay? Your dad is a piece of work and he’s messed you up big time, but you deserve to be yourself. Just talk to her, all right? It doesn’t have to be now,” Three says quickly when Pearl opens her mouth to argue. “When do you see her again?”</p><p>“January.”</p><p>“Think about it until then, okay? Don’t fall into this trap. You’re better than this, you giant dumbass.”</p><p>Pearl sighs and crosses her arms. Three’s brow furrows and she throws an arm over Pearl’s shoulders and pulls her into a sideways hug. For a second, it helps.</p><p>+++</p><p>That’s easier said than done, unfortunately. Pearl does have some kind of feelings for Marina, has since they spent that evening together in that diner. Marina has this vitality to her that Pearl is enamored with, that she can’t get enough of, from the way she laughs to the way she whispers softly into the receiver of her phone when it’s close to three in the morning and they don’t want to hang up. She can’t get enough of her, would spend every moment listening to her talk, or breathe, or mumbling about her homework, but how does she say that without coming on too strong? Without putting their blossoming friendship at risk?</p><p>Pearl likes Marina. And Marina likes Pearl—in a platonic way. She’s said it multiple times: Pearl is her best friend. And Pearl is content with that. She’ll take anything to be privy to Marina’s time, to her problems, to her joys. She’ll be the best fuckin’ best friend she can be, if that means that she gets to keep Marina in her life.</p><p>The truth is that her life doesn’t feel real in a lot of ways. Right now, she’s just coasting along, jumping from job to job, avoiding her parents while still trying to keep the relationship intact (for her mother’s sake), and playing with her band on the weekends. The only stability she has is her cat, the tiny asshole of a roommate that she loves to come home to and who has to be fed every day at six on the dot or else she’ll rebel and knock over anything that’s smaller than six inches and not bolted down. And she has Three, who’s as steadfast as a palm tree, bending and swaying with every single hurricane force wind that hits her, and never breaks.</p><p>And she has Marina.</p><p>And Marina is one of the only things that feels real.</p><p>And she’s all the way over there—states away—and their friendship is all digital, all text on a screen or sound beamed through the air. Yet, it’s the realest thing Pearl has right now, because there’s meat there. Marina <em>listens</em> and she thinks, and she gives herself in the ways she can. And Pearl does the same.</p><p>Pearl is <em>trying</em> to be herself. She dyes her hair and maintains her piercings and scowls as hard as she can when people look at her and her clothes are ripped and black and pink and she’s trying to become who she wants to be. But, sometimes, when she looks in the mirror, all she sees is the little girl she betrayed, the little girl who adored her parents and who promised her father she would try her best to be what he needed, to be a future that he could rely on.</p><p>She looks in the mirror now and sees those same brown eyes, lodged in a slightly larger skull, and she can imagine all that black hair, the same shade as her mother’s, and she sees the hard edge of her father in her nose, and she blinks hard and the little girl disappears and is replaced by the scowly, angry twenty-something. This is who she is now. She’s looking for happiness, like Three said, and she’s found it in her platinum blonde bob and her squinting eyes and her piercings.</p><p>At least, that’s what she tells herself.</p><p>“Pearl?” Marina’s voice mutters from her headphones. It’s after seven and Pearl is sitting in bed, staring up at the ceiling with the sated, sleepy cat in her lap. The cat is purring and licking at the inside of her arm, in the crook her elbow, and Pearl runs a slow hand down her black fur, drawing small patterns in the glossy surface.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I was wondering...” She pauses for a long beat, and then speaks in a rush: “I’m making a new track, and I was wondering if I could use your voice on it?”</p><p>Pearl’s hand stalls and the cat, not expecting the weight, begins to squirm. “You want me to like... record something?”</p><p>“Uh...” Marina trails off, and Pearl begins her petting again, just to soothe the cat. “You can... I haven’t written lyrics or anything. I was just gonna sample your voice, but if you want to do like...”</p><p>She sounds chagrined, or embarrassed, and Pearl smiles. “You can do whatever you want, Reena. I’d fuckin’ love for you to use my voice. Your music is incredible.”</p><p>The cat finally has enough, and she rises, stretches, and lets out a small meow in Pearl’s direction, as if thanking her for the attention. That makes Marina chuckle to hear.</p><p>“Tell Lin hello for me.”</p><p>Pearl grins and talks to the cat as she moves down the bed and curls into a small ball. “You hear that? Marina says hi!”</p><p>Lin—full name: Linda from Accounting—blinks at her sleepily before setting her head primly on her paws and closing her heavy eyes.</p><p>“She went to sleep.” Pearl laughs and is rewarded with Marina’s chiming laugh in return.</p><p>“Good. She needs it, having to deal with you.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Anyway, I actually... Okay, I already made a track. I sampled your voice from your band’s YouTube videos. I figured it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.”</p><p>Pearl sits up from her slight slump. “<em>What</em>? Marina, if you needed the vocal tracks, I coulda sent ‘em to you! That must’ve been <em>hell</em>—”</p><p>“It’s okay! It was a nice challenge! All I had to do was scrub out the instruments—no big! Plus, I wanted it to be a surprise!”</p><p>Pearl grins into the receiver and considers that, Marina leaning over her computer, scrubbing through to find suitable audio, cleaning up, maybe even doing that cool producer thing she does where she writes scripts to get her sequencer to do what she wants. She really is incredible. Pearl is so lucky to be her friend.</p><p>“I was gonna save it for Christmas, but what if you didn’t like it?” Marina continues in a rush, barely pausing. “That’d be a pretty crappy Christmas present. So... Do you want to hear it now?”</p><p>“Do I want to— Uh, <em>yeah</em>! Duh, of course I wanna hear it! Lay it on me!”</p><p>“Okay, I uh... I sent an email. If you want to listen it to now—like <em>immediately</em> listen to it now—I’m gonna... hang up... I, uh...”</p><p>Pearl can’t help it—she laughs. “Are you <em>embarrassed</em>? Marina, that’s so—” She cuts herself off and looks at her cat. She still has her eyes closed, but has one ear angled toward Pearl. She flicks it impatiently, as if telling her to just go through with it, just tell her you think she’s cute. Pearl swallows once and shakes her head. “Your music is killer, Marina. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”</p><p>Marina mumbles something that Pearl doesn’t catch, but she doesn’t ask. It sounded pretty grumbly. “Yeah, you always say that, but it’s not gonna change how I feel. I mean, this <em>is</em> embarrassing, but I wanted to make something for you so...” She pauses again, then takes a deep breath, and Pearl hears her shift. “Okay! I’m gonna go now! Bye Pearl!”</p><p>Pearl laughs again and bids her farewell, if only because she really wants to listen to this song of hers. If she’s this wound up about it, it’s gotta be good.</p><p>After Marina hangs up, Pearl pulls out her most expensive headphones—because Marina is worth it—and settles back with her eyes closed.</p><p>+++</p><p>After approximately two and a half listens, Pearl manages to pull herself out of the lovestruck, dumb stupor she’s lost in, and she grabs her phone to fire off the quickest text of her life.</p><p>
  <strong>me:</strong>
  <em> marina...</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3:</strong>
  <em> You listened to it already??? Jeeze, I thought you didn’t have your computer! </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me:</strong>
  <em> i have a phone, you know. haha</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3: </strong>
  <em>I... I might have forgotten that in my panic.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3:</strong>
  <em> Listen, if you hated it, go easy on me okay? It was a first pass. I can make it better. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me:</strong>
  <em> mar,,, what are you TALKIN’ abt?? it’s GREAT!! how the HELL did you make my voice sound like that? </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3:</strong>
  <em> You’re just saying that because you’re my friend. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3: </strong>
  <em>And, I didn’t do anything really! You’re really skilled, Pearl. Your voice is incredible. You need to stop hiding it under all those drums and guitars. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me: </strong>
  <em>haha whatever you say, reena. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me: </strong>
  <em>ur biased as hell, admit it. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me: </strong>
  <em>and i’m NOT just saying that!!! ur music is so good!!! u could post this online right now and you’ll get like 10000000000000 followers instantly.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me:</strong>
  <em> that’s how good you are</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3: </strong>
  <em>You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes. But... I’m glad you liked it. It’s... I wanted to make you something special, and I really do think your voice is incredible. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me: </strong>
  <em>aww mar, ur so soft. i love that.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>me:</strong>
  <em> you can use my voice anytime, ok? ESPECIALLY because you make it sound so good!! you got a gift :P!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marina! &lt;3: </strong>
  <em>:P! </em>
</p><p>+++</p><p>Christmas isn’t framed with the traditional carols this year. Instead, Pearl plays one song on repeat. When she’s working in a far-off corner of the tree farm, when she’s grocery shopping, when she’s avoiding her father’s texts, when she’s playing video games, hell, when she’s chatting with Marina, it’s there under everything, playing softly just for her.</p><p>It really is an incredible song. Funky and jazzy and it makes her want to dance in slow, sweeping movements, all hips, all graceful sways, like she knows Marina does when she’s recording. And Pearl’s voice takes center stage, accentuated by Marina’s beautiful alto with harmonies that spin across the track. She took Pearl’s voice, stripped away the instruments and drums, and remixed it into something else entirely, using only the vowels and a few consonants for the actual sound. There are no words, but that’s the beauty of it; it doesn’t need language, is just the meeting of two voices through pure vowels and accentuated T’s, hard K’s, soft S’s. It worms its way into your brain and never lets go.</p><p>Pearl thinks that she could get used to this—Marina’s voice in her ear, them collaborating on things; what if they made music together? Like, found their own sound and created something together? That’d be...</p><p>Well, that’s a dream, isn’t it? File that one away with the dreams that are visiting her more and more frequently at night: the ones featuring Marina, flushed and saying things like “I like you too, Pearl... I... I have for a while.” She dreams a lot about Marina these days, and she prefers it that way. At least in dreams she can entertain her pining and her desperate desire to hold Marina close and to never let go.</p><p>“You’re pathetic,” Three says, about two days after Marina sent her the song, when she catches Pearl swaying to it as she sorts the saws in the tool shed. “You’re still listening to it?”</p><p>“It’s <em>good</em>,” Pearl whines back, in some meager attempt to save face. Three knows that it’s more than just good; she knows that Pearl can’t help it. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t listen nonstop if someone made <em>you</em> a song.”</p><p>Three sighs and takes a few of the saws. She places them on the racks slowly, careful to avoid the teeth. “Of course I would, but you’re grinning like a loon and serenading the <em>tools</em>. Have you thought about what we talked about? At least a little?”</p><p>Oh, she has. She’s laid awake thinking about it, thinking about how she’ll say it, how she’ll have to tell Marina the whole truth eventually, how she’ll have to lay everything out for Marina to see (hear) and to judge for herself, how she’ll probably have to listen to Marina suck in a breath and say something like, <em>oh that’s so sweet Pearlie... But—</em></p><p>“No,” Pearl lies.</p><p>Three chuckles. “You’re catastrophizing, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Catastrophizing? Who? Me? I don’t even know that that word means. I can’t read.”</p><p>Pearl ignores the way Three sighs like a kindergarten teacher. She can’t ignore what she says though, because she’s trapped here in the tool shed with Three between her and the door, and no amount of playing dumb will get her through that door, not when Three is determined to grill her. “Uh huh,” Three says, and places another saw on the rack. “I seem to recall you <em>eating up</em> those poems in English class. And you broke down during <em>The Great Gatsby</em> of all things. You know what the word catastrophizing means.”</p><p>Pearl sticks her tongue out and shoves the rest of the saws onto one of the pegs. “Oh look, I’m done. I have to go—”</p><p>“Nope.” Three blocks the way, brandishing a saw, and Pearl blanches. “You’ve thought about it. What’s up? How are you spiraling now?”</p><p>Pearl crosses her arms, petulant, and feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. That’s probably Marina, free of her music theory class at last. In her ear, her own voice continues to sing to her, blending perfectly with Marina’s. “I haven’t been thinking about it.”</p><p>“You’re a bold-faced liar, Pearl Houzuki. What is it? You think she doesn’t like you back, right? I thought we went over this.”</p><p>Pearl’s phone vibrates again, and it takes all of her focus not to reach for it to check it. “No, I—” Three raises the saw. “Okay! Maybe! She’s just so incredible and I’m... not. She just... wrote a song and then <em>produced</em> it, featuring <em>my voice!</em> Who <em>does</em> that?”</p><p>Three sighs and slumps, exasperated. “Who does that...? You’re such a dumbass. She <em>likes</em> you! I might even be so bold to say that she <em>like likes </em>you.”</p><p>Pearl feels her stomach flip, because it’s one thing to be told that, over and over again, but suddenly she has this evidence, right there, in her ear, and Three is looking at her like Pearl’s the most desperate, sad, stupid creature she’s ever seen. “I—”</p><p>Her phone vibrates again, and it feels loud now. She can imagine Marina sitting on the bus, staring at her phone, waiting for Pearl to reply, and Pearl is trapped here, pinned in place by this slow-moving epiphany while Three is glaring at her because she’s so <em>fucking</em> stupid. She’s so dumb and in denial and she can’t control it, but Marina is so cool and funny and beautiful and she—</p><p>“She...” Pearl stutters. Her phone lets out a loud buzz again.</p><p>“She’s <em>interested</em>, Pearl. I haven’t even <em>met</em> her, but no one just makes a song like that for someone they just met a few months ago! <em>And</em> you really only know each other online... C’mon man.”</p><p>“Okay!” Pearl throws up her hands. “Maybe she is! That doesn’t change anything! I’m not gonna just stroll into her DMs and drop some giant, embarrassing truth bomb! What do you want from me! Let me <em>pine</em>!”</p><p>Three shoves the final saw onto the rack and sighs. “I know, but accepting it is the first step. You <em>deserve </em>to be happy. Let yourself—and let Marina. Clearly, she’s interested, which means she’d have something to gain from your happiness too.”</p><p>Pearl’s phone vibrates, and Three is looking at her with those big, brown eyes, and that’s it. Pearl buries her face in her hands and groans into her palms. “<em>Fine! </em>But I’m not saying a word until we’re together in person. This isn’t something you just tell someone over the phone. I mean, yeah, I know that some people do, but it doesn’t feel right for me... Or for us. I—”</p><p>Three steps forward and pulls one of Pearl’s hands away from her face. “It’s okay to be scared. Take all the time you need... But, for the love of god, please stop denying yourself this. Enjoy it. <em>Flirt</em> a little.”</p><p>Pearl smiles and nods once. She can... She can do that.</p><p>+++</p><p>The night before Christmas, Pearl shows up at her parents’ house at midnight, Bose headphones lodged firmly over her ears, and she walks right past her father where he’s sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her.</p><p>“I thought you weren’t gonna show,” he says. Pearl can hear him, because she doesn’t have any music on, but she pretends she doesn’t.</p><p>“He’s pleasant,” Marina says, sarcastic, into her ear. They’ve been on the phone for hours, spending what little Christmas time they can together before Marina gets swept up into family events tomorrow. She flew to see her father a few days ago, and she’s been spending time with him, her stepmother, and Eight ever since, but she still carves out a few hours every day to sit on the phone with Pearl. It’s sweet, and it wakes the voice in Pearl’s head that sounds a lot like Three, the one that says <em>See? Told you so...</em></p><p>“Yep,” Pearl whispers back, trying to hide her voice under the rustling sound of her movement. She doesn’t really want to talk to her dad right now.</p><p>“Your mother was worried,” he continues.</p><p>“I texted,” Pearl answers shortly. She drops the bag of presents next to the large, elaborately decorated tree in the middle of the sitting room and nimbly dodges around the new furniture sitting in silent sentry around it. In her headphones, Marina says something about emotionally distant fathers.</p><p>The house is dark so Pearl can’t see much else, but that suits her just fine. She finds her way through memory alone, traces her fingers along the banister and then the wall, and she makes her way to her childhood bedroom, where she falls onto the bed face first, not bothering with the light.</p><p>“I made it,” she says into the bedspread.</p><p>It was awkward getting here with that giant bag of presents and her overstuffed backpack, but she managed it. Even ignored her father’s text saying that he could send a car, and instead opted for a cab, which she was proud of. Unfortunately, the cab dropped her off at the gate, and she had to walk the full mile down the gravel driveway to get here. Every stone was perfectly round and white, and they all stood perfectly in line, not a single one rolled belligerently into the grass on either side of the road. Sometimes, Pearl feels a lot like those rocks.</p><p>The whole way, Marina rambled in her ear, trying to distract her, talking about the weather in Texas, how hot it was—seventy degrees in December—how exhausting her father was, how Eight was reconnecting with all her old friends and Marina wasn’t, but that was okay because she had Pearl. And Pearl answered in kind, explaining how she’d left this house and planned on never returning, how she came back every Christmas and New Year’s Eve as some sort of guilt-obligation, how she was somehow conned into coming back every Sunday, how her mother insisted they meet at a restaurant while her father was adamant that the family home was the only appropriate place to have Sunday lunch.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marina answers, and it’s just what Pearl needs to hear. Because Marina gets it. Marina gets what it means to go back to your family when you desperately don’t want to, when you feel like you’re being pulled apart, when you look in the mirror and only see the little girl you used to be looking back at you. Marina’s been going through it for days, has to hide who she is, tries to pretend, lies about dates that she’s been on because her father doesn’t know who she is, not really.</p><p>Pearl rolls over and stares into the darkness. This far outside of the city, there’s less lights outside, so her room is as dark as a cave. It comforts her, because she can’t be seen, because there’s nothing distracting her from the sound of Marina’s breathing from her headphones.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Mar,” Pearl mutters, and reaches up to press the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I wish...” She trails off, considering. What she wants to say is sappy and sweet and not like her, but being back here makes her thoughtful and sentimental. She decides to just go for it. “I just wish we could be celebrating together... Instead of with our families.”</p><p>Marina is quiet for a long, hard moment. All Pearl can see is darkness, which just makes every sound louder, every moment of hesitation brighter, and she opens her mouth to take it back, to say <em>I don’t know what came over me</em>, but Marina clears her throat and Pearl realizes with a jolt that she’s probably crying, if the sound is anything to go on.</p><p>“Me too,” Marina whispers back.</p><p>Pearl curls into herself, wishing not for the first time that she could stretch her reach across all those states, all those miles, and give the hug she so desperately wants to give.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Pearl's turn! I'm pretty sure this story and the next one are gonna be from Pearl's POV, but we'll be back to Marina after that ;) </p><p>Haha remember when this series was keeping pace with the real world? Now it's March and I'm posting a Christmas story... Nailed it. </p><p>Gonna be real with you: my interest in Splatoon and Pearlina is waning, but I'm trying to get my mojo back. If you enjoyed, leave me a comment, yeah? I'm out here struggling big time... </p><p>Check me out on Twitter if that's your neck of the woods: <a href="https://twitter.com/theashemarie">@theashemarie</a>!</p><p>Next update will be on March 29! See you then! </p><p>Comments and kudos are cherished! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Christmas with the Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Pearl slides down the banister halfway through breakfast. She’s late on purpose, because that means she’ll have to rush through eating and won’t have to talk. That’s the goal anyway.</p>
<p>She slips in her socks and gives her mother a kiss on the top of the head as she passes, mumbles a good morning, and plops into her seat, ignoring her father’s hard, blue-eyed stare. On the table, there’s French toast warming a dish and a large jug of freshly squeezed orange juice near her place; she’s only one who drinks the stuff with all the pulp. Behind the house, she knows there’s a plump orange tree, waiting for her mother’s capable and fastidious hands to come pluck the fruit, and she wonders how early she got up to squeeze this for her.</p>
<p>She takes a sip, then chews to get through the pulp. “Juice is good, Ma,” she mumbles as she sinks her fork into the French toast. It goes through like there’s nothing there. She hasn’t spoken since she said goodbye to Marina last night, which isn’t much in the scheme of things, but she’s used to waking up and immediately hopping on the phone for a short chat with Marina while she got ready. Her schedule’s changed a lot since they swapped numbers, mostly to fit her laissez-faire life around Marina’s regimented and scheduled one, and she’s used to getting up at eight in the morning now, used to crawling out of bed within five minutes of waking so she could brush her teeth, used to talking ten minutes after that while she chewed through whatever leftovers she had in the fridge for breakfast. It’s crazy to think about, looking back, how much she’s changed for Marina already.</p>
<p>“It’s from the store, so I’ll give your regards to Costco,” her mother replies, smiling into her napkin.</p>
<p>Pearl casts a long, hard look at the jug—it’s the antique one that her mother inherited from Pearl’s great-grandmother, the one that she always serves the hand-squeezed juice in. She chews once, on nothing, just to test the leftover taste in her mouth. “It didn’t <em>taste</em> like store...” she mutters to herself.</p>
<p>“I’m messing with you,” her mother shoots back, and spears a piece of pineapple off her plate. “I don’t squeeze the oranges that often anymore, so it was nice to do it this morning. I have a bag for you, by the way. I can’t keep giving them to the neighbors. Mrs. Sullivan physically can’t take anymore oranges, or so I’m told.”</p>
<p>Pearl snorts and stuffs a huge bite into her mouth. “You got it,” she slurs around the mound of food.</p>
<p>Her father sighs and she barely casts him a glance. He’s wearing his casual clothes—khaki slacks and a thick-knitted sweater, but it all looks a little too tight, like he’s sewn in and can’t breathe. “I trust you slept well. You got in so late.”</p>
<p>Pearl snorts again—she tries not to, but she can’t help it. “If you think midnight is late, then you’re older than you look, Pops.”</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes. “It was late for Christmas. I thought we were going to have hot cocoa like we used to.”</p>
<p>There he goes again. Her father is one of those dads that’s caught up in an obsessive reenactment of mythical Christmases past—trying to hearken back to a time when she was still round with baby fat and watched the world with eyes bigger than her head and wanted nothing more than to please her parents, <em>especially</em> her impossible-to-please father—but these days she’s convinced that those Christmases never happened, or his memories are presenting him with a vision of an amalgamation of multiple Christmases to create a perfect one that never happened. He’s always chasing it though—that perfect season and that perfect day.</p>
<p>Both Pearl and her mother know that it’s never going to happen.</p>
<p>“I’m not five anymore,” Pearl says, like she always does, and watches his expression twist, like it always does. “I’m a coffee girl these days, anyway.”</p>
<p>He mumbles something that she can’t hear, but doesn’t say anything else. Her mother, meanwhile, clears her throat and reaches forward to grab his plate. It’s tacky with syrup, like it always is, and she scowls and mutters about sticky fingers. It’s funny, how they reenact this similar scene every Christmas morning when her father is so busy chasing his own. This is what they really are: a jug of hand-squeezed orange juice, Pearl in her pink, oversized pajamas and unbrushed hair, and her mother trying to keep the peace. Their family is just this breakfast: strained and glancing and avoiding.</p>
<p>She left her phone upstairs, she realizes, as she reaches for the waistband of her pants and finds nothing. A strange mistake, because she’s never without it these days, but old habits and rules—no phones at meals—die hard in this house. She stuffs the rest of the food in her mouth and swallows after barely chewing; then jumps up, dumps her plate in the dishwasher, and rushes toward the stairs.</p>
<p>“Hime,” her father calls after her, with that hard edge that he’s so good at. “Presents now.”</p>
<p>Pearl doesn’t stop. “Just getting something from my room!”</p>
<p>He sighs after her but doesn’t say anything, probably because he knows he can’t stop her when she’s already got the forward momentum. She skids across the rug and yanks her phone off the charger, flicking through the passcode with barely a glance. There’s only one message, a simple <em>Good morning! :) </em>and she taps out an answering greeting in reply: <em>hiii! sorry, i was having breakfast with the rents. dad’s being all stuffy about hot cocoa last night. like i knew he would be</em></p>
<p>Her father thinks that Christmas should go like this: Christmas Eve is to be spent in quiet, getting work done, and little Hime is to occupy herself in her room all day while Mom wraps last minute presents, but after dinner the holiday begins. A Christmas movie is to be watched, and two large mugs of hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, are to be consumed either during the movie or after as they watched snow fall outside. Mom is to go to bed early because she is to wake up early to make breakfast. It didn’t snow yesterday, so Pearl figures they would’ve watched <em>Rudolph</em> or something while chewing through sugary marshmallows. The only problem, of course, is that Pearl is too fidgety these days, especially in this house, and she can’t stand Christmas movies anymore, not when they remind her so vividly of those Christmas Eves.</p>
<p>After the hot cocoa has been consumed, it’s up to bed for little Hime, where she is to lie quietly. She is to never sleep, because she’s too jazzed up on sugar and excitement. At approximately one in the morning, after <em>swearing</em> she heard hooves on the roof, she’s to creep down the stairs in her socked feet and gaze, awestruck, at the brilliantly lit tree and its candy-colored presents. There’s always one large one, which she is to tiptoe around and attempt to figure out. But, before she can touch it, her father is to lunge out of the shadows and sweep her up, telling her that she has to sleep or else the presents will disappear. She’s to turn serious then, because this is a real threat, and nod with all the vigor of a small lawyer, and he’s to carry her back up to bed.</p>
<p>Marina’s return text comes quickly: <em>If it makes you feel any better, my dad is giving Eight the lecture again. It’s Christmas morning and he can’t stop talking about her grades. I feel so bad for her. </em></p>
<p>Pearl grimaces. <em>give her my condolences. i gotta go now. they’re waiting for me. time to see what expensive shit i have to lug home. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>Okay. Good luck! TTYL! I’ll miss you.</em>
</p>
<p>That hits Pearl right between the eyes. Usually, they’re not that affectionate with each other, not in the way they’ve been the last few days, not like last night, when Pearl whispered her wishes into the phone at close to one in the morning. But, clearly, the holiday season is getting to them.</p>
<p><em>Or,</em> some little voice whispers in her head, <em>she likes you. And she’s picking up on the fact that you like her too</em>.</p>
<p>She shakes her head to clear it and shoves her phone into her waistband. It’s better not to think on these things.</p>
<p>But...</p>
<p>As she plods down the stairs, she texts back quickly: <em>miss you too</em></p>
<p>+++</p>
<p>Here’s the thing about Pearl’s father: he’s homophobic, but not in the traditional way. He thinks he’s hip with the kids and claims to be okay with the gays—but it makes him incredibly nervous and uncomfortable to think of his own child as anything but straight.</p>
<p>It's led to some unfortunate and cringe-worth moments, especially when Pearl brought a girl home to meet her mother and her father was haunting them, asking how long they’d been <em>friends</em> and how much he wished he could have a friendship as close as theirs. It was so bad that when Three used to visit, back when Pearl still lived here, she had to deal with constant references to their <em>friendship </em>and how impressed he was that they were <em>still friends</em>.</p>
<p>Pearl’s not sure he can tell the difference between her friends and her significant others, despite how often she says, with her mouth, <em>this is my friend</em>, or <em>this is my girlfriend</em>. He seems to just skip, like a rock over the surface of a pond, right over any incriminating language and settle only on one word: <em>friend</em>.</p>
<p>Which is why she’s very careful that Christmas morning, as they go around in a circle, just the three of them, and open their presents. Marina texts every now and then, just sending status updates, and Pearl only checks when her father is consumed by one of his presents, and sends back short updates of her own, just quick descriptions of her presents, and stows her phone away again before he looks up to beam at his family.</p>
<p>She doesn’t want to deal with it today, and she knows that if he catches her texting during family time he’ll just probe and sulk and won’t let up, so she’s being stealthy.</p>
<p>Or, as stealthy as she can.</p>
<p>After the presents, she’s supposed to go with her parents to see the neighbors and spread holiday cheer, but she really doesn’t feel like climbing into real clothes today. She’s itchy after sleeping in her childhood bed and sitting here, on this new couch in this old room, and her mom keeps looking at her with this expression that’s so apologetic and she can’t stand that either. They’re both putting on an act for her dad. Why? Why do they do this?</p>
<p>She’s so distracted by all this that she fucks it up. Her phone vibrates and she’s so busy staring at the ceiling and trying not to lose her shit that she pulls it out, just to see Marina’s soothing name and her careful texting, and her dad zeroes in on her because she’s supposed to be watching her mother open the Sephora gift card Pearl got her. Before Pearl can read a single letter of Marina’s text, her father speaks: “Hime, can’t you stay off the phone? This is family time.”</p>
<p>She scowls, suddenly on the defensive, and pulls her eyebrows together as she tries to read Marina’s message: <em>Stepmom got Eight a new set of wrenches. She’s over the moon. </em></p>
<p>“Is that another of your <em>best friends</em>?” he asks, stressing the phrase in a way that Pearl’s never heard before. He’s watching her with a furrowed brow, and her mother is glancing between them, trying to gauge, getting ready to run damage control, but Pearl can’t speak, can barely think, just hears that phrase over and over again: <em>best friend, best friend best friend best friend</em>...</p>
<p>Marina <em>is</em> her best friend, but she’s also so much more than that, but she’s also not. In name, they’re best friends, but her father was clearly implying something else, something more, in that uncomfortable, impatient way of his. What can she say? If she tells the truth, says yes, he’ll assume she means <em>girlfriend</em>; if she says no, just to head off any assumptions, it would be a lie because Marina <em>is</em> her best friend.</p>
<p>It's such a simple question—full of spite, yes, but simple—but it’s so fraught. Marina <em>isn’t</em> her girlfriend, but Pearl desperately wants her to be... And, clearly, Marina feels some type of way in return, so what is she doing? Why is she fucking around like this? Waiting until they’re in person? <em>Why</em>?</p>
<p>Because she’s a coward.</p>
<p>Her phone vibrates again, but she barely feels it. She stares at her father with eyes she can’t feel, and she doesn’t know what to say. She’s <em>seriously</em> having a crisis in the middle of Christmas morning? Seriously? Now?</p>
<p>“Nate,” her mother says, forceful, “let her go. She’s an adult.”</p>
<p>Her phone vibrates again, and again, in a familiar rhythm, and she realizes with a jolt that she’s getting a call. She accepts it without glancing at the name, assuming it’s Marina, and is rewarded with an unexpected voice: Three.</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas, from your former best friend!” she calls, and Pearl stands. She can’t feel her feet as they carry her from the room. In her ear, Three chatters away, rambling about the holidays so far, and Pearl’s father calls after her, demanding she come back, that she answer the question, that she respect her family. She doesn’t listen to either of them, just marches forward without direction.</p>
<p>Once she gets up the stairs and around a corner, she finally stops and butts in, cutting Three off in the middle of a ramble about the paintball gun her sibling got her. "I'm having a meltdown in the middle of opening presents with the 'rents."</p>
<p>Three takes that in stride. "What, they didn't get you the <em>car</em> you wanted?"</p>
<p>"<em>No</em>! They got me gay, existential panic instead."</p>
<p>“<em>Again? </em>Pearl, how many times are you gonna go through this? You’re like a cat! Except instead of nine lives you’ve got nine existential crises. What is it this time?”</p>
<p>“My dad asked if Marina is my best friend.”</p>
<p>A long, long pause.</p>
<p>Pearl bites down hard on her lip.</p>
<p>Three takes in a quick breath. “Look, I know that’s loaded, but how did he even know about Marina? Isn’t she like your grand little secret?”</p>
<p>Pearl sighs and leans back against the wall. Her phone feels very heavy. “He doesn’t know it’s her... specifically. But I got a text from her and he caught me looking and he asked if I was texting—” She drops her voice low in an approximation of her father’s. “—<em>another of your best friends</em>. Which just sent me on a spiral! He means girlfriend, and I can’t say yes, but if I say no then that’s lying!”</p>
<p>Three is quiet again for three long beats. “You do realize you’re overthinking this.”</p>
<p>Pearl groans. “Yes, I’m aware.”</p>
<p>“Okay, good. Just checking. Here’s an idea: don’t answer, if you’re all twisted up about it. And Pearl— Listen, you’re way worse than I thought. You need to talk to Marina. If longing was disease, I think your lungs would be full of it by now. You’d be choking on it.”</p>
<p>Pearl smiles to herself. “I already am.”</p>
<p>There’s a loud voice, calling for Three, from the phone. “I have to go. Just stay calm, okay? You’re a little spitfire and I love that, but it gets you in trouble. Just <em>breathe</em>, okay. Marina isn’t there to hear your answer.”</p>
<p>Three hangs up, and Pearl mutters quietly into the line, “Bye...”</p>
<p>+++</p>
<p>Luckily for her, her father is far more steamed about the phone call than any sort of texting, so he doesn’t bring up the question. Instead, he glares at her and asks who’s so important that she had to interrupt family time. She opens her mouth to answer, but her mother stands abruptly and claps her hands.</p>
<p>“That’s enough out of the both of you,” she says, bright, but it’s clearly a threat. “Nate, let her go. Pearl, sit down and finish your presents. Then, we’ll put on our coats and go make nice with the neighbors. After that, you can do whatever you want!”</p>
<p>Pearl, given direction, plops back down and digs into her presents. She barely sees any of them, as she’s far too more concerned with the sensation of her phone’s vibration against her leg.</p>
<p>+++</p>
<p>The neighbors are as insufferable as always, and Mrs. Sullivan invites them in for lunch. Pearl sits silently and chews slowly, noshing her food between her teeth like it’s coated in sand. When it’s done, she busies herself with the Sullivan’s dog while the older adults chat.</p>
<p>The Sullivans have a son, but he and Pearl went to school together and he was there for the Great Breakdown of Senior Year, and it’s clear that he’s not impressed with her sloppily chopped hair and oversized hoodie. That suits her just fine though; she’s not impressed with his pressed jeans or his swoopy, rich haircut.</p>
<p>Later, Pearl helps her mother with the dishes while the Sullivans show her father their collection of, what they call, “travel artifacts.” They’re just knick-knacks piled up on shelves in the guest room, but Papa Houzuki acts interested, especially when Mr. Sullivan leans over, around Pearl, and whispers like there’s some grand secret, that they have <em>a real lava rock, from Hawaii</em>.</p>
<p>As they lead her father away, Pearl rubs the towel into a plate. “Pretty sure it’s illegal to steal lava rocks.”</p>
<p>Her mother shakes her head and mutters something in Japanese that Pearl doesn’t understand. Neither she nor her mother know much of her grandparents’ language, but her mother has some idioms that she uses every now and then. “I wonder how much bad luck they’ve had. We should ask.”</p>
<p>“No offense Mom, but I... don’t care.”</p>
<p>Her mother plops a spoon into the drying rack and turns to her. “All right, what’s going on with you? You’re usually moody, but this is a lot, even for you.”</p>
<p>Pearl scowls at the spoon. “There’s nothing going on with me.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh, and I bet this <em>nothing</em> has nothing to do with the girl you were texting earlier, either. C’mon honey, you know you can talk to me. Your dad can’t handle it, but I can.”</p>
<p>Pearl sighs, because she knows she’s right. And, honestly, she could really use some motherly instruction right now. “Do you know... the Idas?”</p>
<p>It’s a hedge, but her mother has lived in this area her whole life. It was Pearl’s father who moved out here and took her mother’s name, after all.</p>
<p>Her mother’s face flashes once, with an unknowable, surprised sadness, before schooling back into a blank canvas. “I used to. Why?”</p>
<p>That blindsides Pearl. Her hands tighten around the towel. “You... <em>What?</em>”</p>
<p>“I went to school with Meredith Ida. We were... very close.”</p>
<p>“Meredith?” Pearl drops the towel on the counter. “Are we talking about the same Idas? I—”</p>
<p>“Meredith died. Cancer. She had a young daughter, if I remember right. A couple years younger than you. I... When she went, I was so heartbroken...”</p>
<p>Pearl can’t quite put all this together. She focuses on her own reflection in the spoon for a second, trying to grab all this information. It feels like trying to hold sand though; the harder she squeezes, the more escapes, unknowable. “Mom... What? You knew... Wait, wait. You knew Marina’s mom?”</p>
<p>Her mother gives her a sad smile. “I’d forgotten her name. Marina’s your new friend? Didn’t her father move her out of state? How’d you meet?”</p>
<p>Pearl feels like she’s losing her grip on this conversation. More grains slip through. “We... Haunted house. She visits every holiday, if she can. You...”</p>
<p>Her mother nods and reaches back into the lukewarm water. It strikes Pearl as strange, then, that they’re doing the dishes, when the Sullivans have people who can do that for them. “Her grandparents still live here...” Her mother continues. “I should go see them.”</p>
<p>She sighs. “Honestly Pearl, I never expected to hear that name again. After she died, I cut off all contact. I couldn’t handle it. Here I was with this active four-year-old and every time I looked at Meredith’s little toddler, all I saw was her. It hurt, and I needed to focus on you.” She smiles then, down at her murky reflection in the dishwater. “But it makes me happy to know that you’ve connected with Marina. You could’ve been friends your whole lives, if things turned out differently.”</p>
<p>Pearl doesn’t know what to say to that, but she feels a distinct twang of loss, of longing for what could have been, for what was taken from her, for what was taken from Marina.</p>
<p>“I... Mom, you... Marina’s...”</p>
<p>Her mother wraps a dripping hand around her shoulder and pulls her into a tight side hug. “Marina’s special to you. I can tell. You should tell her. It’ll be nice to have an Ida back in our lives.”</p>
<p>Pearl sighs and feels her whole body droop. Suddenly, she’s exhausted and feels like she can’t shoulder all of this information, not here, in the neighbors’ kitchen on Christmas Day. “Everyone keeps telling me that,” she confides, “but it’s not that easy.”</p>
<p>Her mother squeezes Pearl’s bicep with her wet hand. Her tone turns hard. “No...” Her gaze is far away. “It never is.”</p>
<p>+++</p>
<p>The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, and soon enough they’re back home. Pearl doesn’t even remember the drive back, or getting out of the car, or even kicking her shoes off, but suddenly she’s back in her parents’ house with her father at her back. She doesn’t recognize the house, but for different reasons this time—she tries to imagine baby Marina here, cradled in the arms of her young mother, visiting on a Christmas just like this one. Her mother is healthy, but not for long, and tiny Pearl peers at tinier Marina with an awed expression, one fat toddler finger reaching out to poke a pudgy baby cheek. It’s the ghost of a memory, and she’s not sure if she’s making it up.</p>
<p>True to her promise, Pearl’s mother leads the way into the house, tosses her coat onto the floor, kicks off her shoes, and declares, “Breakfast at ten tomorrow. Be free.”</p>
<p>Pearl scurries away, ignoring the eyes that follow her as she tromps up the stairs. She glances back once before she turns the corner; her mother is looking up at her with an expression that says how much she wants to explain things, while her father’s face is hard, upset, as if he’s perpetually pissed at Pearl for something or other. She can just see Meredith Ida too, definitely a phantom of her imagination, but her expression is so earnest, and she really does look like Marina.</p>
<p>(Later, as she’s falling asleep, it’ll occur to her that she <em>had</em> to have some memory of Marina’s mother, trapped deep in her subconscious, for her to picture her at all.)</p>
<p>She closes the door to her childhood bedroom and falls back against it. Slowly, she slides to the floor with only the light from beyond the window to illuminate the familiar shapes of her old bed and her old desk and her old bookshelf and her old pictures, strung up on string above the bed. Nothing’s been touched in this room since she moved out—neither she nor her parents have bothered to change anything, as if agreeing that this should be a tomb with Hime’s name on it.</p>
<p>Her phone vibrates, and she doesn’t have to look to know it’s Marina. Marina’s done with family duties too, and she’s asking if Pearl wants to talk. Pearl can sense the words under her fingertips because they’re so normal.</p>
<p>She isn’t sure if she’s capable of normal today.</p>
<p>Pearl texts her back eventually, with listless fingers, tells her that she needs to shower off the grime of the day before she can commit to anything. It isn’t a lie. But, mostly, she just needs time to think.</p>
<p>She steps into the spray of her old shower. Same body, different name, brain stuffed with way too much information. What’s she supposed to do with all this?</p>
<p>Marina mentioned once, way back in that diner, that her mother died of cancer. At the time, Pearl didn’t think much of it beyond how much that sucked, especially because Marina didn’t seem that shaken up about it, but now she feels like she’s been charged with a giant responsibility. She can’t explain it, but suddenly she has all this information, has a connection that she thinks Marina needs. After all, Marina does have this sadness about her, that even she doesn’t seem aware of. But then, Pearl can’t imagine what it must be like to miss someone you never really knew.</p>
<p>But she also feels like it’s none of her business.</p>
<p>And maybe Marina doesn’t <em>want</em> to know. Maybe Marina already knows. Maybe Marina has so much information about her mom that it’s like she never died. Maybe Marina—</p>
<p>Pearl sighs and lets her head droop, lets it press into the cool tile of the shower.</p>
<p>Should she tell her? Does it even matter? Like, <em>haha, funny story, your mom and my mom were friends. Wild right?</em></p>
<p>Except, from way her mother spoke, there was something else there. A deeper connection. Pearl has a feeling that her mother was special to Meredith Ida in ways that Pearl will never understand.</p>
<p>She groans and turns her face to the spray.</p>
<p>Really, what’s one more secret on the pile anyway? She’s already keeping this whole feelings thing a secret and she’s still not sure what to do about it. What if telling her about this mom thing just complicates things between them? Pearl isn’t sure she can handle that right now.</p>
<p>She’ll keep everything to herself until she knows more.</p>
<p>+++</p>
<p>Later, pink and warm from the shower, Pearl sits in front of her bookshelf, scanning the titles, while Marina’s voice fills her head. Marina speaks quietly because Eight is in the room, asleep on the top bunk, and Pearl matches her because she can’t muster enough energy to be loud just now. Not when half of her brain power is dedicated to everything else.</p>
<p>“How long are you staying at your parents’ again?” Marina asks.</p>
<p>“I want to leave tomorrow,” Pearl answers, only half listening. “I have to come back for the New Year’s Eve party, but I want <em>out</em> of here.”</p>
<p>Marina hums in understanding. “I get that. You gotta climb back into your skin.”</p>
<p>Speaking of skin, Pearl feels itchy, despite her shower. She fidgets and focuses on the manga titles in front of her. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but these books have gotten her through a lot; maybe they’ll help now, offer her an answer from the depths of their plots.</p>
<p>Her eyes land on the first volume of <em>Fullmetal Alchemist.</em> Her mouth moves on its own as she considers the book. “Mar, do you ever miss your mom?” she hears her own voice ask. She jerks, jolts, as her mouth goes rouge, too caught up in the books to control her own impulses. She takes a quick breath to take it back, to make some excuse, but Marina beats her.</p>
<p>“Wha...? Pearl, did you—”</p>
<p>“Never mind!” Pearl cuts in quickly, kicking herself. <em>So much for keeping it a secret.</em> “It’s just with Christmas... I was thinking about family and... You don’t have to answer.”</p>
<p>Marina doesn’t seem to hear her. “I... I mean? I think about her a lot, of course. My dad doesn’t like to talk about her, especially with my stepmom around, and my grandparents only talk about things from her childhood. It makes sense I guess—she died in her twenties. I do miss her though, as far as you can when you don’t really know someone. I wish I knew more... Why?”</p>
<p>Pearl takes a small, shaky breath. <em>You got this, Houzuki. Just tell her how sorry you are. Nothing more. </em></p>
<p>“I, uh,” Pearl stutters, trying to say what she needs to. The problem is that she’s bad with secrets, especially with the whole <em>I LIKE YOU</em> secret hanging on her. She can’t handle both, and she knows it, and her mouth knows it, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.</p>
<p>“Pearl, is something wrong? You seem frazzled... Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”</p>
<p>“So like... My mom knew your mom! Haha funny right!” Pearl blurts. Then, follows up with: “Small world! How was your Christmas, by the way? Uneventful, I hope.”</p>
<p>“Whoa, whoa, wait. Back up. <em>Your</em> mom knew my...”</p>
<p>Pearl bites her lip. “Her name was Meredith, right?”</p>
<p>Marina doesn’t answer, which is confirmation enough. Just there, Pearl can hear the rustle of fabric as she climbs out of bed.</p>
<p>“She and my mom were close friends, apparently,” Pearl continues, because now that she’s going, she can’t stop. “I asked if she knew your family, and it all came out.”</p>
<p>There’s the creak of an old door opening, and then Pearl can hear soft footfalls and Marina’s breathing, speeding up as she moves through her house. Another door opens and closes, and then Pearl can hear the wind. Marina went outside.</p>
<p>“My family?” Marina eventually asks. She sounds as shell shocked and Pearl feels. “Why’d you ask—”</p>
<p>Pearl panics then. “She asked if I’d made any new friends recently! And my dad caught me texting and did that thing he does where he’s trying to figure out if I have a new girlfriend— He’s so uncomfortable with me being gay, so when he sees me texting anyone, he’s always like ‘<em>is that another of your </em>best friends?’ which is just code for <em>oh are you still doing that gay shit, huh? </em>and Mom must’ve seen me panic because— Actually, you know what, never mind! She just asked if I’d made any friends, and I answered, and she got all quiet and looked all sad and then she was like <em>Meredith and I used to be very close</em> and! Apparently! We coulda been friends this whole time! Fuckin’ robbed! We were <em>robbed</em>, Marina!”</p>
<p>Marina is quiet, simply listening as Pearl continues rant, but eventually she cuts in. “What’d you say to your dad?”</p>
<p>Pearl careens to a halt and slams back into her body, there on the floor of her childhood bedroom, staring at the tiny bookshelf that she’s had her whole life. “What?”</p>
<p>Marina laughs. “Never mind. You were having a meltdown. There was no way I was gonna get a word in edgewise unless I snapped you out of it. Did she say anything else? About my mom?”</p>
<p>Pearl takes a few breaths to make her heart calm down. “She... Uh... I mean, I was kinda shocked, so I didn’t pry. Do you want me to? I can—”</p>
<p>Marina chuckles. It’s not as melodical as it usually is, probably because it’s so late, but Pearl still feels herself heat up a little when she hears it. She loves Marina’s laugh. “I don’t know,” Marina answers. “I had no idea that they knew each other... Should I ask my dad? What if we’re making this into a bigger deal than it is?”</p>
<p>The image of Pearl’s mother’s face flashes in her vision—so sad, so broken, along with her mouth wrapping around the words <em>We were... very close.</em> “It can’t hurt to ask,” Pearl says. “I’ll... I’ll do some digging. If there’s a chance that my mom can tell you about your mom, something that your grandparents or dad don’t know, then we should go after it. I know you don’t talk about her a lot, and it’s normal for her to be gone, but if there’s a <em>chance</em>...”</p>
<p>Marina doesn’t answer for a few beats. “I do miss her. It’s just a quiet sort of missing because I don’t remember her, but I’ve always wondered what she was really like, y’know? All I have is everyone else’s stories, and you know how people get when someone they love dies... It’s all rose colored glasses.”</p>
<p>Pearl doesn’t answer, just stares at the spines of her books, because she doesn’t know, not really. She’s never lost anyone like that before. “I... Uh. Yeah. I’ll see what I can dig up.”</p>
<p>“Just don’t push too hard. If it’s too hard on her, let it go. From what everyone’s told me, the disease was fast and ugly. If she was with her until the end...”</p>
<p>“You got it, Mar.”</p>
<p>Carefully, Pearl pulls the first volume of <em>Fullmetal Alchemist</em> from the shelf and flips through the pages, just to have something to do with her hands. Her mother’s careful handwriting appears on every page, and, for some reason, it makes Pearl’s heart twang. Years ago, they hunched over this very book, a gift from Pearl’s grandparents, slowly translating the Japanese with the help of Pearl’s grandmother, and Pearl’s mother penciled in the English translations. It’s the only book she has that’s not in English, and she thinks of her mother, always there, no matter how many breakdowns, no matter how many rebellions, accepting everything with grace and patience.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s because she decided to funnel all of her energy into her family, after losing someone so important to her? There’s no way to know without asking.</p>
<p>Pearl closes the book, stands, and stuffs it into her backpack.</p>
<p>“Okay Mar, for real... How as your Christmas?”</p>
<p>“Not bad. I missed you though.”</p>
<p>Pearl feels her heart seize.</p>
<p>“I missed you too...”</p>
<p>She’s not sure how long she can keep this up. She’s going to break soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- It's illegal to take any sort of rock from any national park in the USA, so stealing lava rocks is 100% illegal. It's also incredibly well-known that taking lava rocks off of Hawaiian soil will give you incredibly bad luck. It's so bad that the Hawaiian government receives hundreds of rocks in the mail every year from hapless and bold tourists who not only broke the law, but thought themselves immune. Don't do it, kids. </p>
<p>And, it's done! Wow! Just like that... These things always end so fast, I swear.</p>
<p>Christmas seems like it should be a big deal, in the scheme of things, but this story ended up being setup for the next few. New Year is a more important holiday for me, so I kinda projected that onto this story. Plus, Christmas can be pretty miserable, especially for LGBTQ+ people. </p>
<p>Thank you so much for all your kind words and kudos on last chapter! I've been really dropping the ball when it comes to replying to those, but I'll get to them eventually! Just know that I read every one and smiled like this :D!!!!!!!!</p>
<p>I think that's it! See you next time for LDR 4: Should All Acquaintance Be Forgot (Probably, for Pearl's sake...)! But first, I think I wanna work on Meet Me on the Rink, so if you're into that, I'll see you there first. </p>
<p>Check me out on Twitter if that's your neck of the woods: <a href="https://twitter.com/theashemarie">@theashemarie</a>!</p>
<p>Comments and kudos are, as always, cherished! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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